Manners
by The Absynth Fairy
Summary: One would, perhaps, regard the sleeping figure beside Remus his “lover”. Remus, however, knew that “lover” was… inappropriate.


**A/N: **"Manners" was influenced and inspired by the canon evidence cited in the essay, "BDSM, Snape, and Lupin" by DovieLR, which can be found on the SnupinCentral wiki site in the essays section. Not to say that this is, without a doubt, canon, but what I believe to be canon unless someone can convince me otherwise.

**WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF HOMOSEXUALITY AND VIOLENCE IN THE FORM OF BONDAGE. **

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters in this story. They are the property of J.K. Rowling and Scholastic Inc.

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"Manners"

"_It isn't polite to stare_." Remus heard his mother's voice chastising him in his mind as he reclined on one elbow, his head cocked lazily to the side, half-mast eyes regarding his…

He didn't know exactly what to call a man like _him._

One would, perhaps, regard the sleeping figure beside Remus his "lover". Remus, however, knew that "lover" was… inappropriate. "Lover" was meant to describe those men who, to Remus, only existed in fairytales, or dead, or in lands far, far away. It certainly was not a term for the man who lay beside Remus, a man who was clearly far, far away from Far, Far Away.

This was a man who did not possess the ability to display a lover's tenderness and Remus thought it tragic that a human being would lack such a very human quality.

Coupling with Severus Snape had all the tenderness and romance of rape. Remus consented to it all: the burning pain at the base of his spine, the bite marks on his neck, and the half-moon indentions Severus's fingernails left on his upper arms, where he pinioned Remus to the wide variety of surfaces they found themselves against in the heat of… neither of them could call it '_passion.'_

It was interesting to Remus that all of the restraint Severus exhibited, all of the dignity and stiffness present in the wizard's body melted away with his jagged thrusts. He found it interesting that all of Severus's carefully worded diatribe was diminished to feral grunting and unintelligible muttering, accompanying Remus's own guttural moans and ragged gasping. The first few times they'd coupled, Severus had coldly clamped his hand over Remus's mouth. He couldn't have summoned the coherency to tell Remus to stop howling. When he could find words, he would press wet lips against Remus's ear, spit the words out as if they had been collecting in his mouth, a foul venom.

"_Animal_," he would hiss between pants, "_Mangy beast... __uh... __pathetic__. Vermin. __Dog."_

Remus took a secret delight in these almost nightly abuse. The pain Snape inflicted was a catapult, propelling Remus into a state of pleasure that he almost didn't like due to the abnormality of it. Pain was a large and frequent guest in his life, which left him unsurprised when he found himself pushing into Snape's fingernails, bowing his head and straining downward when Snape's hands were clutching his hair, when low, rapturous growls, coming from some deep, carnal part of him, were results of being slammed hard enough to bruise against an endless array of walls, counter tops and doors.

Much to Remus's secret pleasure, Snape would take him from behind always, pinioning Remus's arms beneath his chest if they were on a bed and would enter without preparation: another curious thing that left Remus wondering if it was an act of deliberate cruelty, disregard, or desperation. Then came a relentless thrusting, the insults forced through gnashed teeth, which would then bite his shoulder until it was bruising and bleeding, the hand at his mouth, then around his throat tight enough to make him choke and he couldn't help but wail like a dog in heat when Snape, spitting and hissing like a cobra, would come to a climax.

It was after that, when all was still and Severus rolled off of him without a word, withdrawn to the other side of the bed, that Remus wondered who the real animal was. The dampness on his skin was suddenly making him cold, calling to memory the sound of Severus's grunting and hissing, thinking of how Severus lunged at him like a starving, wild thing, and how he withdrew with the manner of a jungle cat licking its paws after the kill.

What perplexed Remus the most was that Severus stayed after exposing himself so fully. True, he would withdraw to leave Remus cold and damp on the other side of where ever they ended up. But he stayed. Remus would fold his arms behind his head and study the sleeping form beside him, wondering if he could really sense Snape's deepest nature. It was a talent he suspected he had… the sensitivity that made him privy what seemed to be people's hearts. What he detected in Severus was a vicious kind of neediness. A need that was so fierce it could kill the thing he needed in its grasp. This was what made Remus's blood rush at three in the morning, a sense of danger already heightening only to be lowered by Snape's soft breathing.

Severus was very delicate and precise with inanimate objects… but as soon as these objects sprang to life- became blood, flesh, bone and started to speak and move of their own volition… that was when Severus's tenderness seemed to drain from him without a trace. Remus had concluded long ago that Severus reserved his most ardent passion and affection for those things he could easily manipulate; those objects over which Severus had almost complete control.

So, what could Remus call him? Severus could hardly be called a "companion", or a "partner". Words like "spouse", "boyfriend", or even "friend" were absolutely out of the question. The truth Remus finally had to face was that perhaps Severus wasn't _his_ anything. Remus knew, perhaps better than anyone else, that Severus belonged to other people, people that were way more important. He was positive that Severus would not be keen on adding Remus to his list of owners.

Remus was fine, for the time being, to impolitely stare at a man who didn't particularly belong to him.


End file.
